#i now am taking a year off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boundinparchment · 2 months

Text

Con Clavi - V - FIN

You serve the church of the Tsaritsa, under Father Pantalone. Faith is a gift you received long ago but a certain heretical Harbinger is determined to push those boundaries. Il Dottore/Female Reader that leads to eventual Pantalone/Female Reader. Reader is a Canoness/Nun. Story is rated Explicit. Minors DNI. Religious symbolism, corruption, many many liberties, this chapter contains smut. Dead Dove applies.

Please note: this chapter, although entirely consensual, relies on power dynamics and the twisting of faith. Contains: cunnilingus, slight manipulation, first time, confusion regarding one's faith and one's desires, the lightest hints at breeding kink.

Available on AO3 here. MDNI banner by cafekitsune

You knocked on the heavy wooden doors thrice and waited until you heard Father Pantalone’s voice usher you inside. Although your hands had since steadied themselves, you couldn’t rid yourself of the tremor in your rib cage, as if a bird was fluttering around erratically.

The office itself was a far cry from the rest of the administrative areas of the church. Colorful tapestries depicting scenes from the Archon War and the founding of Snezhnaya covered the stone walls and the carpets under your shoes were richly woven with enough of a pile to give a little under your soles. Walls not covered housed ebony bookcases with glass doors, protecting the beautifully gilded spines housed within their confines. A door, no doubt leading to the Father’s quarters, was to the far left, near a seating area of two couches and a low table. Ahead of you, a fire crackled in the stone hearth, radiating warmth you sorely missed ever since Lord Dottore’s cloak left your shoulders.

Father Pantalone rose from his desk on your right, fingers posed on the surface, a thin smile on his lips.

Being caught by anyone would have been easy to brush off. But the Father himself?

Shame did not quite describe what overcame you and made it difficult to look him in the eye.

He gestured with an open palm to the seat in front of his desk and you nodded, heart racing, as he rounded the desk slowly and tended to the fire. There was a cup of tea waiting for you, the same kind reserved only for…

You didn’t deserve to sit nor the generosity of such an expensive tea. Not when you still felt the deep pang of hunger and need within yourself, your core pulsing. You’d only just begun to distract yourself to will it away but the office smelled so much like him .

“I must apologize for earlier, Father. I was only returning extra clothes to the laundry and I…don’t understand what came over me,” you started, perching yourself on the edge of the chair.

You twisted, turning your attention to the priest as he returned the poker to its home and then walked across the room. The words that came from your lips were not quite a lie but enough of one that they earned you a glimpse of glittering gold eyes as Father Pantalone looked over his shoulder at you.

“Don’t you, Sister?”

His words were not quite patronizing but you felt your cheeks flare all the same. In the damning silence, his hand reached for the lock and slid it home. His footfalls were muffled by the carpet as he slowly approached and stopped right behind you, resting gloves hands on your shoulders, mindful of your habit.

“Your students made songbirds seem quiet in comparison when they left, chattering with no regard for who was around. I thought the Doctor left after our meeting.”

An errant finger traced the small patch of exposed skin at your neck.

“I’m sure you can imagine my dismay to hear that he had instead taken to wandering towards you again, my lamb.”

“Lord Dottore only wanted to return the borrowed clothes from his previous visit,” you supplied.

“You gave him one of my cassocks?”

Father Pantalone’s tone was one of curiosity but it carried a weight of indignity you were familiar with overhearing.

“There was little else, Father, that would fit him available that day. He’s taller than most. He did…try to persuade me earlier but…my faith…I have so little, I would never forsake my vows.”

I would never forsake you, Father .

Pantalone’s thumb came to rest just under your jaw as the palm of his hand pressed flat against the column of your neck. His gloves hand was scorching as he pushed your head backwards to look up at him.

“Then why, beautiful lamb of mine, were you burrowing in my ceremonial robes? Did I not tell you to come to me if he bothers you again? That there is no shame in acknowledging the carnal desires you have given up?”

Whatever answer came to mind died the longer you stared up at him, the Tsaritsa’s cross high behind his desk winking at you when you dared to look away. You had every intention, you wanted to say. Your mind, your body, your heart, they all needed reminders to ground themselves before you groveled at his door. After all, the Church had willingly seen to your care after you spurned your family, took your dowry and ran. The Tsaritsa, and her Servants, were so kind and forgiving and…

The longer he held you there, the more you felt as if you were drowning. Your eyes stung and lungs screamed just like they did the day he had baptized you properly to welcome you into his church.

Father Pantalone’s thumb brushed the edge of your jaw and your resolve finally broke.

“I ache, Father. Every inch of me feels like it’s on fire and I just want it to stop ,” you pleaded, tears threatening your vision. “He kissed me, teased me, made me want more…but all I could think about was you .”

His other hand came to brush away the burning wetness from your eyes and your heart skipped as his smile never faltered. Disappointment did not cross his face and you pinched your brow, closing your eyes. Shouldn’t he have been admonishing you? Reminding you of the sacrifices made by those of the cloth that mirrored the losses of Her Holiness?

Father Pantalone’s hands left you and as your head fell back forward, you heard his footsteps when he moved to stand in front of you, between your chair and the desk. You kept your gaze on his shoes, polished and far too fine for anyone else in his position, unable to look at him.

A hand, palm up, interrupted your vision, and your gaze followed it to find Father Pantalone extending it, as if helping you up. His expression was soft, the same smile he wore during Communion carved across his lips. The nearby fire casted flickers of flames across his glasses but through them, you could feel the heat of his molten gold gaze.

“I said I would make myself available for atonement, did I not, Sister?” he reminded you.

You took his hand and he brought you to your feet with little effort, pulling you right into him with your hands pressed against his chest. The heady smell of incense mingled with scents you remembered from earlier, notes of vanilla dancing with a smokiness you didn’t catch earlier. Embers, once burning low and ever-present, ignited to life again as your blood roared in your ears.

Father Pantalone curled a finger under your chin, lifting your head up again. This close, you were dazed, overcome by both your incessant needy ache between your legs and his proximity. His lips ghosted over yours, tender and forgiving.

“Thank you for being honest, my lamb. Your unwavering faith and your dedication will not go unrewarded.”

You felt a hand rest on your waist as he closed the distance, pressing his mouth to yours in what passed for a chaste, tentative kiss. It was followed by another, and then a third, reminiscent of the way the ocean met the shoreline on calm days. You relaxed, a soft moan escaping you. Trust in your faith and the man holding you kept you steady as you felt yourself melt, your stomach fluttering.

He released his hold on your chin to cup your cheek. The priest’s tongue brushed your lips and when you opened to allow him entrance, you tasted the smokey tea he was previously enjoying. Where Dottore had been full of hunger and desire, ravenous in his exploration, Father Pantalone was attentive, appreciative.

You began to explore, hands slowly roaming the plane of his chest towards his shoulders, and then inwards, finding the shape of his collar. With trembling hands, you slipped a finger beneath the collar and grazed his skin. Father Pantalone inhaled sharply, and when you reached up to touch his jaw, you became breathless as he deepened the kiss further, his grip on your waist tightening as his other hand found purchase in your pinned hair beneath your veil.

He broke away after another coaxing of his tongue and left only enough space for both of you to catch your breath. Your blood sang with need and you were acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs.

Father Pantalone’s hardness pressed against you, confined and twitching. You’d resisted earlier but, itching with curiosity, you trailed a shaking hand down and palmed his member through the fabric. He pulled his hand from your waist to cover yours, urging your fingers to squeeze him.

“You’re not the only one who struggles with their vows, dear sister. I have spent many a night hoping your faith would hold out. We can atone together and seek forgiveness with one another,” Pantalone whispered. “We are Her Most Faithful, after all.”

The priest let go of your hand, wrapped his arms around you, and turned both of you around, the curve of your ass seated perfectly on the edge of his desk. You adjusted your hold, speechless, when he bunched up your skirts and found your stocking covered legs. Burning palms found your soft flesh and gripped, lifting you onto the desk properly, your skirts in your lap.

Mindful of the various desk ornaments, you shifted and pulled your dress up, revealing your garters and glistening thighs. No sense in hiding your arousal, not now, when your confession spoke for itself. Father Pantalone stood between your legs, his gaze heavy as his tilted his head and the grip on your thighs tightened almost to bruising.

“What stunning glory,” he murmured into your habit. “Never hide your eagerness from me again, my lamb.”

He removed his gloves with care and set them aside, his bare fingers tracing down your leg and lifting it as he kneeled. Through the thin fabric of your stockings, you felt his burning touch, soft and teasing, your leg draped over his shoulder as he turned his head and pressed his lips to your ankle. His breath tickled your skin as he worked his way upward, lips moving a modicum as he went. You shifted to provide a better angle and gasped when you felt a warm, wet presence on the sliver of bare skin exposed to him. Deep inside, you felt yourself twitch and clench.

A finger hooked into the soaked fabric covering your sensitive flesh and pulled it aside, exposing you. You swallowed but found yourself unable to look away as the Harbinger gave a low moan. His lips moved against your skin, teasing you further. Your own silent plea for forgiveness was lost when the flat of Father Pantalone’s tongue pressed against your heat and flicked upward, jolting you with delicious bliss. You felt him smile as he explored your folds, licking and tasting you as if you were his final meal.

His nose brushed against the bundle of nerves at the top of your slit when his tongue delved inside and you whimpered, shuddering as the sensations became too much to bear. So this was…

“That’s it, my lamb, let go.”

You felt a pressure, low and sweet, give way to icy fire and Pantalone gripped your hips to keep you in place as you writhed against his face. With a keening cry, the coiled rope finally snapped and you saw nothing but white heat dazzled with stars. You bucked against his face, seeking more, your body almost acting on its own.

He pulled away slowly and stood up, mouth and face wet, and you felt yourself flush further knowing it was you on his face. He dipped a finger between your legs, inside , and he lifted your slick to his lips. His expression as he looked down at you was no different than when he tasted fine wine brought as an indulgence offering.

“Exquisite. Was that your first?”

“Yes, Father,” you murmured. “My wedding night was never consummated.”

“Ah, that’s right. You spurned your family’s wishes and came here. How do you feel?”

You inhaled slowly, your orgasm sinking away just below the surface. If you focused, you could still feel his tongue and lips, kissing and sucking at your flesh as if you were an altar unto yourself.

“Like I never want to feel anything else,” you replied, holding his gaze.

His lips melted into a smile you so rarely saw that words failed to capture. It was not unlike the way scripture tried to encapsulate divinity succinctly while retaining reverence. Nothing in this world existed that was powerful enough to do so.

“And you won’t, my lamb. Are you ready for more?”

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes wide and pleading. “Yes, I’m ready.”

You watched as he freed himself from his pants, his member far more imposing than it had felt in your hand. The mechanics were easy to understand, you’d known since you came of age to understand these things, but nonetheless…

With one hand, Father Pantalone steadied you at the hip, keeping you just on the edge of the desk as he guided his length and slid the tip along your soaked folds. The sound was lewd and unmistakable in its nature as you fought the instinct to roll your hips and capture him. He stayed nestled between your swollen lips as he reached for the buttons of your dress and made quick work of them and pushed the garment away from your arms. The bodice you wore underneath followed suit, the fastenings undone and the article tossed aside, leaving your bare breasts exposed.

You felt his tip at your entrance as he grazed a finger over your peaked nipple and then cupped your breast, squeezing softly. Father Pantalone pressed his face in the crook of your neck and held you close, his hand still holding your breast as he slowly rocked into you, giving you just a little more every time. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging.

“Nice and slow. This isn’t about carnality, about lust, now is it?”

Pantalone’s words comforted you as you adjusted to the feeling. He pushed into you a little deeper and you moaned, shaking your head as you felt him brush past a particularly sensitive spot.

“Feels…good…divine,” you mumbled.

“Exactly. Isn’t it ironic that this would be denied to us, this chance to be close to the divinity we devote our lives to?”

The priest pressed hot kisses to your skin and sucked at your flesh, nipping occasionally. He gave a guttural groan as he finally buried himself entirely into you, twitching. Pantalone withdrew from you almost entirely and set a pace of long, slow strokes that left you mewling. He laid a trail of bruises down from your neck to your breast, paying careful attention to the swollen peaks he exposed, running his tongue in circles. With a final graze of his teeth, Father Pantalone straightened to capture your mouth again and swallow every moan that escaped your lips.

You’d once watched an entire forest drowned in wildfire, the season unusually dry. There was no other comparison. You felt as though you were set alight and to douse it would mean to severe your connection to your faith, your church, your very being.

It was accompanied by the sensation from before, stronger now. Pantalone increased his pace as your walls began to tighten in anticipation. His hips snapped as he drove himself into you, angling himself just so, pushing you closer and closer…

You ripped your face away from his as a silent scream ripped itself from your throat and your entire body trembled. White hot heat overtook your vision and you tumbled over the edge; you caught a few words of prayer as Father Pantalone continued to pump into you and you reached another peak that left you whimpering as you pulsed around him.

Pantalone held you close with a single arm, gripping the edge of the desk with his other as he gave a few more erratic thrusts. The desk shifted ever so slightly in rhythm and scraped against the stone floor. He twitched as he found his release, shooting warmth deep inside you.

Distantly, a concerned thought crossed your mind but it was lost with the sense of fullness when the Father pulled out of you, still hard. Instantly with his absence, you felt pooling wetness as you began to leak your mingled essences.

“So tight you can’t even keep it inside you,” Pantalone crooned. “That won’t do.”

With two long fingers, he grazed your overstimulated flesh and scooped up his seed, pushing it back inside you. He pumped into your velvety walls a few more times for good measure, a smile splitting his lips.

“You’re going to need that, my lamb. For now, it’s time for you to rest.”

Why the man sitting next to you was so insistent on being a constant presence, Pantalone neither knew nor cared. But that he could not tend to you in peace was grating on his last nerves. The priest observed your sleeping form from the doorway to his quarters, face impassive.

You were so perfect. So dutiful, so pious, so pure. And as long as Father Pantalone was the only one to touch you, you would remain so.

He could not stand the idea of losing you. Both because your dowry was an important asset that made dividends upon dividends and your presence was a light that was sorely needed. Faith was never a question for you but neither did you shy away from the larger questions so many found daunting.

You were exactly the kind of dove who flew from the nest when faith was no longer capable of covering up the inconvenient truths.

For now, you were tucked safely into his bed, your habit folded neatly, face peaceful.

“What, exactly, do you intend to do with your precious lamb, Father? It’s not as if you can marry ,” Dottore murmured.

He turned his covered face towards the priest, expectant.

“She is the most faithful of my congregation, Doctor. I’ll keep her close. The Tsaritsa might make an exception in the event she proves to love me as she does our Archon.”

“That you consider the Tsaritsa to be your Archon and think you are important enough to be an outlier is laughable, you hypocritical hedonist.”

“And you’re any better?”

Dottore reached over to brush a lock of stray hair away from your face. That ridiculous mask prevented any kind of indication of the Second’s expression but Pantalone hadn’t known the other man for almost three centuries without spotting some tells.

“She’ll never come to you,” Pantalone said with a shrug. “Not this one.”

The priest longed to cross the meager bedroom and slap the grin that plastered itself across Dottore’s face.

“Oh, she will, Father. She will,” the Second chuckled lowly. “Keep your little dove caged as long as you like. Feed her lies, plant your seed in her, do as you wish. But a mind such as hers will not be satisfied within these walls forever.”

Dottore stood and rounded the bed, stopping in front of his colleague and speaking low.

“And when she comes to me seeking more than you can give her, I will be waiting with open arms. For her perspective is one I would value beyond measure.”

Pantalone glared, biting his tongue only to prevent you from waking. Dottore let out a huff from his nose, satisfied, and left without another word.

He was wrong. Genius though the Doctor was, he was wrong .

With Pantalone as your guide, both of you would carry the Tsaritsa’s faith forward. Together, there was no truth you could not bear the weight of.

He was certain of it.

#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x female reader #pantalone/female reader #x reader insert #priestlone #pantalone as a priest #il dottore #hints of il dottore x reader #cw: smut #tw: smut #juni takes a hiatus #there we go this is done I am so proud of myself for finishing a story in less than a year #will be dropping off the face of the planet now so I can sleep and work on other things #dottore

40 notes · View notes